Demonic
by The Seelie Court Jester
Summary: The past can be hidden behind a veil of human emotions, all of which can culminate into a very toxic fairytale. Set in an AU where the only demons are the ones entwined in such pasts.
1. Once upon a time

**Hello. I am the Seelie Court Jester, and I do not own Black Butler.**

* * *

Run.

His fists clenched desperately, as he ran through the streets. Cold sweat drenched his forehead, his dark bangs following him closely from behind. Wide eyes kept searching the eroding buildings, his panicked mind trying to determine which spot would be the best place to hide.

Run.

Blurs of shapes past him easily. All he could see in front of him was the cold, grey cobblestones beneath his feet. The harsh, November gales ripped through his skin, like a sleek, silver sword, that was already poised to strike.

 _Run._

His instincts screamed. The adrenaline coursed through his body, as he pushed himself further and further from the shadows that followed him. His lungs were starved of oxygen. But even so, he pushed himself. He forced himself. He had to get away, before _they_ caught him.

And suddenly, he fell.

It only took a split second for him to try scrambling back up to his feet.

A tavern.

There was a tavern there.

If he could just make it…!

He froze in place, when he caught two young children in the distance.

Blond, curly hair fell down her ivory skin, the cruel moonlight shinning down on her soft, callous smirk.

A pair of dichromatic eyes, one sapphire, the other emerald, innocently pierced him with their obedient glare.

And finally, he heard footsteps, from behind.

Footsteps that reminded him so terrifyingly of gleeful spider, who had just caught a fluttering butterfly in its web.

From there, he saw them, ready to drag him off to the dark.

The Michaelis Demons.


	2. Chapter 2

His fingers rapped impatiently against the mahogany desk. Dark, heavy bangs fell across the man's face, as he stared out at the wooden door, as if waiting for someone, for anyone, to come. His thick, winter coat was hanging from his chair of his office. On his right was a stack of signed documents, all of which carried an air of pride, as they relished in the stamp of his signet ring. To his left, however, was a stack of unsigned documents, a majority of which he didn't even want to think about until…probably a fortnight from now?

Vincent Phantomhive fought the urge to move, as he kept looking up. He was about to ring for his butler, when, at that moment, the man showed. The earl narrowed his eyes, a small frown tugging at his lips. "Where have you been?"

The old Japanese man bowed lowly. "My apologies sir. Lady Rachel had been asking for you for quite some time."

His gaze softened at the mention of his beloved wife. Slowly, he nodded, his frustration quickly slipping away from him. "And pray tell, why she didn't come to me?"

"She didn't want to be a bother."

Vincent stood, alarmed by the thought. "A bother? Never! Why? What's wrong? Has she started coughing? How's her temperature-?"

Before Vincent could continue, however, Tanaka raised his hand calmly, bringing Vincent to a halt. He smiled tiredly, as he walked over to the desk. "She is resting for now."

"I…see… So she's sick again."

"She only wanted to see if you were alright."

Vincent nodded quietly, as he sank in his chair, the confusion splayed across his face. That's the fifth time this month Rachel had come down with something. Still, to be honest, he should've already been expecting this, considering the fact that winter had just arrived. Her immune system wasn't as strong as it used to be, even without her asthma striking her down every so often. Then of course, she couldn't help it; she was strong-willed, lively, rebellious, but all the same, to be born with such a weak body…

"Milord," Tanaka called, causing Vincent to snap out of his thoughts. He looked up at the butler, and chuckled emptily. "I'm sorry Tanaka, what was that?"

Slowly, Tanaka walked over to the desk. He carefully dug a white, familiar envelop from his pocket, and laid it down. "We received this, just a few moments ago."

Vincent's eyes widened at the letter. He looked up at Tanaka, who regarded him with even eyes. Before long, he grabbed the envelop, and opened it.

 _To the Earl Phantomhive,_

 _I hope you are doing well, especially on such a lovely night as this. John has told me that you and your wife were planning on going out to Wales for some fresh air, and he had suggested that I do the same. Though I refused, he insisted that I come with him. He even says we can decorate Christmas trees together. That would be a remarkable sight, wouldn't it? I hope that you'd join us some day, for a wonderful moment such as that._

 _Speaking of trees, I've heard some rather odd things about the Epping Forest, in Essex. Children would always go into the forest, speaking of a strange man who would always invite them in with promises of sweets and toys. Then, once they enter that forest, the children would simply disappear. I've already sent a few to investigate, but after a few weeks, they'd vanish too._

 _These disappearances remind me of the fairies of old, who would tempt humans from their homes with their magic, before stealing them away into the fairylands. It's an incredibly frightening prospect. It is why I would like to know your opinion on the matter, Lord Phantomhive. Are there fairies in the woods?_

 _Victoria._

Vincent narrowed his eyes at the letter. He gripped the edges tightly, as he read it over and over again.

Funny; the last time he heard of such nonsense was a couple of years back, when Rachel was reading a bedtime story to their son.

"Milord?"

"Tanaka," Vincent called, "prepare a carriage. We're going to Undertaker's."

Tanaka bowed, understanding the urgency of the situation. "And what of Lady Rachel?"

"Tell her that I'll be back late," Vincent said, as he grabbed his coat. "We're leaving. Now."

* * *

He first met them about two weeks ago.

The Marquis Oliver was attending one of Lord Aquette's dinner parties, a celebration to commemorate the opening of the man's newest orphanage. Since the Marquis Oliver was one of the more prestigious donors, he'd been invited as a guest of honor. Of course, Lord Aquette was an incredibly influential aristocrat in society, so Oliver was more than happy to attend. Having one of the elite singing his praises was more than enough to raise his public image. For some reason, people think he's snooty and obnoxious. He even heard it from one of the Queen's Butlers, that Charles fellow!

The nerve…

When Oliver arrived, the evening chimes, it appears, had already announced his arrival. He managed to amble his way out of the carriage (he wasn't particularly thin) and into the manor in the finest purple suit his money could purchase. The butler had already taken his hat and coat, and had escorted him into the ballroom. With what he believed to be a charming smile, Oliver waved the servant away with a good mannered laugh, before turning to the party at hand. He stroked his bushy brown beard, and surveyed the scene.

In his opinion, Lord Aquette's mansion wasn't entirely impressive; even Oliver owned a better chandelier than that. And those curtains looked incredibly ferocious! No respectable household would even touch them! But what's more, what's with all the riffraff here? There were so many people he didn't know, none of whom appeared to have titles that were higher than his. Oliver had even taken great pains to see the guest list, and so far, none had shown. Where were the Midfords? And the Phantomhives? Surely they must be here too! But despite his best efforts, Oliver couldn't find the nobles anywhere. The only person worth associating himself with at the moment, was Lord Aquette.

Ironically, the same aristocrat had happily rushed to meet him. The lively look in his grey, wrinkled eyes greeted Oliver gladly, as he shook the man's hand. "Lord Oliver!" he said bombastically. "Been a while!"

Oliver nodded. "Yes, yes. Quite."

"I take it you've been well?"

"I have," he answered. "By the by, have all the guests arrived tonight? Can't have anyone out in this weather, after all."

Lord Aquette's face fell. He smiled a sad smile, as he took a wine glass from a nearby servant. "Ah yes. Well, due to the storm out in the country, a lot our guests won't be able to attend. I am a bit disappointed, but it's better for them to be safe than sorry."

Oliver bit back a yawn. "I see…"

"So tell me, what sort of mischief have you been up to? I hear you're planning doing business with the Earl Phantomhive later this week?"

Automatically, Oliver's eye twitched irritatingly. Well, he supposed business ventures weren't all that private, especially in a world like this. It's only natural for other nobles to look out for their own interests. And besides, Oliver heard that Lord Aquette's daughter had just debuted in high society; he was probably looking for the appropriate suitors. "I am," he stated curtly. "My theaters are actually advertising for their company."

"How wonderful!"

Oliver huffed haughtily. He stroked his brown mustache and smiled. "Yes, it is, isn't it? Their newest product, Bitter Rabbit, had just been released. I plan on selling some of the products, while debuting Carroll's _Alice in Wonderland_."

Lord Aquette sighed. "You know, I used to read my daughter that every night. I miss those days. Did you know-?"

Oliver instantly tuned the man out, as he allowed his eyes to wander.

Honestly! All the women here are either old or fat! And the men are just _atrocious_! Still, he took pride in the fact that out of everyone, he was the handsomest man here. No one could top him in his business acquisitions, and even the Lord Aquette would have to kneel when he discovered just how much of a fortune Oliver had amassed. But not only that, he was also a clever politician; he'd even managed to escape fighting a majority of England's battles, simply on the excuse that he had work to be done. No one dared oppose him, and even now, a majority of the nobility would rather kiss his arse than get on his bad side. He was actually about to interrupt Lord Aquette, if only to remind the man of his hard-earned influence, when he saw a strange man, off in the distance.

He was dressed in a black tuxedo, with three, black feathers dangling from the cuff of his sleeve. He had midnight hair, whose bangs had parted to the side of his face, and deep, crimson eyes that seemed to watch every dark corner in the ballroom. His long features gave off a sort of Gothic elegance that no one else in this party seemed to possess. A silver chain dangled from his breast pocket, which carried with it a unique pocket watch, with a tiny bird embedded on it. The man was smiling, conversing with the other guests, with a single glass of red wine in his hand.

But what was that, hiding behind him?

"Lord Oliver?"

Oliver snapped back to attention. He turned with wide eyes, almost spilling his drink as he did. "What? I'm…I apologize. Can you say that again?'

"I…was talking about the rumors. Are you…quite alright?"

"I'm fine," Oliver said hastily. He paused, as he feigned a relaxed grin. "Say, Lord Aquette, who's that gentleman over there?"

Lord Aquette blinked. He turned to the strange man in black, before chuckling heartedly. "Yes, he is a bit mysterious, isn't he? But he's a kind person fellow you get to know him."

Oliver flickered his eyes toward Lord Aquette. "You're aquatinted with him?"

"I certainly hope so. He helped me time and time again. He always comes to visit, so much so I think of him as part of the family. Speaking of which, I hear he's in service to the Queen."

The Queen?

 _The_ Queen?

Oliver cleared his throat, as he gazed at the man. "Really?" he pressed, desperately trying to sound nonchalant. "So he's one of her servants then?"

"I believe so," Lord Aquette said, as he and Oliver started walking towards the man. "But I've no idea what he does for her. He doesn't really reveal much of himself. He's a very private man, you see."

At once, Oliver narrowed his eyes. Private? What part of anyone's lives in this day in age is _private_? All of the nobles keep tabs on one another. If this man was as "private" as Lord Aquette makes him out to be, there must be something incredibly indecent about him. What kind of secrets did he have anyways? Was he involved with some sort of scandal? Was he a traitor? Was he the Queen's lover? Really now! And after all that talk of how she was simply _mourning_ for her deceased husband.

But even so, Oliver still trailed after Lord Aquette, his curiosity getting the better of him.

A few moments later, the two gentlemen were standing just a foot away from the man. Then, as if sensing them, the strange man turned, and smiled.

"Marquis," Lord Aquette said easily, "I'd like for you to meet Baron Sebastian Michaelis."

Baron Michaelis's red orbs settled on Oliver for a bit. It felt like an eternity, before the baron finally cracked a smile. He held out his hand. "A pleasure."

It took a while, but finally, Oliver found his voice. He looked down, and saw Michaelis's hand, as if for the first time. Almost immediately, he took it. "Likewise."

Michaelis nodded, as his hand fell back to his side. Carefully, he turned around, confusion flickering in his eyes a bit, before finally settling on the figure, seemingly hidden behind him. He smiled playfully. "Go on," he urged. "Introduce yourself."

After a few brief seconds, the figure finally stepped out.

The boy was tall, though his features were delicate enough for Oliver to tell he was incredibly young. His light, blond hair bounced when he stepped away from the baron, his icy blue eyes hiding behind his bangs. He wore a black coat, with a dark purple bow tie. Like the baron, the boy had a chain tucked away in his breast pocket, though nothing was attached to it. He nodded ever so slightly.

"It's nice to meet you," he said softly. "I'm Alois."

Oliver blinked, before nodding slowly. But just before he said anything, Alois turned away.

The baron sighed. "Do forgive him; it's been a while since he was in a fancy party like this. He's just worried about his brother is all."

Oliver blushed. "Of…of course." What's wrong with him? He's acting like all the other doddering fools here! "Well, I've ah…heard a great deal about you my lord," he quietly whispered. "It's…an honor to meet you."

The baron, or rather, _Sebastian,_ smiled. "Did you now? Lord Aquette, just what have you been telling him?"

Oliver's eyes widened. He spun around to Lord Aquette, who only laughed. "Nothing out of the usual! Ah, Alois! It's been a while since I last saw you! How's your brother? Another cold?"

The boy stared up at Lord Aquette for a while, before smiling. "Just fine. He just got over it though, so we might not be able to join you next week."

Oliver watched the sadness flash across the lord's face. Mentally, he scowled; the man really did wear his heart on his sleeve. "A shame. Lord Michaelis, I take it you won't be joining us either?"

Sebastian simply shrugged. "Perhaps. Speaking of which, how is your daughter? Is she-?"

And as Oliver watched them, throughout the evening, he couldn't help but notice how lively the baron seemed. Sebastian Michaelis, surrounded by nobles and common folk alike; the servants were on almost friendly terms with the man, something Oliver couldn't help but be intrigued by. He was astonished by how empathetic he seemed, though he was dressed in all black, and by his grace, though he did seem a bit standoffish. To Oliver, it seemed like he was everything, and he was nothing, like a character, from the play he was doing.

And yet, despite the man's alluring character, Oliver couldn't help but watch the young Alois, who was even more mysterious than the baron himself. The way the golden lights danced within the reflection of his eyes, the soft shadows seemingly hiding beneath him, that slightly bored expression on his face; it was as if Oliver was staring at a fairy, who had somehow lost his way. True, he gave off the same, enchanting gracefulness, but there was something different about him, something Oliver couldn't put his finger on.

When the party was over, Oliver had thanked Lord Aquette, as well as the other guests. He bid them ado, before looking over the rest, trying to see if the baron or the boy was still there. However, Lord Aquette waved his hand dismissively. "He's already left," he said sadly.

"I say, Lord Aquette."

"Hmm? What is it, good sir?"

"Is that fellow really a baron?"

Lord Aquette blinked, obviously surprised at the question. "Why? What makes you say that?"

"…It's just a thought."

The man stared at Oliver for a while. But then, he started laughing. "Old friend, we're living in the nineteenth century. Even you should know that status isn't everything."


End file.
